


Two Pair

by Vertiga



Series: A Handful of Jokers [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Bank Robbery, Early Days, Fake AH Crew, Gen, Gun Violence, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4003567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vertiga/pseuds/Vertiga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan, Jack and Geoff, from their first meetings to the first time they fully trust each other.</p><p>Early Fake AH Crew, following on from my Ryan origin story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Pair

## Los Santos, 2009

‘I hear you’ve been looking for me,’ Ryan says, coming up behind the man on the pier.

The man is wearing a rumpled tuxedo and black nitrile gloves, throwing bread to the wheeling seagulls, and when Ryan speaks he turns so casually that it’s almost like he knew Ryan was there.

He stands still for a minute, taking in the skull mask, the casual stance. Ryan’s right hand is hidden in his jacket pocket, but the man doesn’t seem overly concerned that he might be armed. His chin is thick with dark stubble, and his blue eyes stay hazy and half-lidded even when surprised. Ryan wonders how many people have made the mistake of underestimating him as a result.

‘Hey, Vagabond,’ Geoff Ramsey says, with a slow grin. ‘Yeah, I’ve been looking for you. Nice of you to stop by.’

‘It’s a nice day,’ Ryan says, and takes a calculated step forward, stretching out his left hand for some of the crumbled bread.

Ramsey jerks the bag away. ‘I wouldn’t touch without gloves, it’s poisonous as hell,’ he warns.

Ryan cocks his head slightly, a habit he’s learned to compensate for the fact that no one can see his carefully arched eyebrow under the mask.

‘I fucking hate seagulls,’ Ramsey says, throwing out another handful of poisoned bread. ‘They’re too goddamn loud, and they kill all the other birds.’

‘Some would call that survival of the fittest, especially in this town,’ Ryan says mildly.

Geoff snorts. ‘Some just like an excuse for their behaviour that makes them seem less of an asshole.’

‘But not you.’

Geoff laughs. ‘Hell no. I’m king of the assholes, and goddamn proud of it. I’ve been working on it for years, climbing the ranks of assholes, honing my asshole skills...’

Ryan wonders if that really sounds dirty, or if it’s just him, then catches Ramsey’s grin and realises he knows exactly what he’s doing.

‘You helped me out a lot, you know,’ Ramsey says, crumpling the empty bag, snapping off the gloves and tossing everything into a burned-out garbage can nearby. ‘Rooster Teeth was a major issue for me, once upon a time. Most of their territory is mine now.’

‘You’re welcome?’ Ryan says.

‘Nah, I know that probably wasn’t why you went to war with them,’ Geoff says, waving him off. ‘Apparently no one knows the reason for that, but boy are there some interesting rumours! My point is this – you’ve helped me out before, and you’ve never taken a shot at me or Jack. That’s a pretty solid basis for a working relationship, I’d say.’

‘I wouldn’t disagree,’ Ryan says cautiously. ‘But it depends what kind of work you want done next.’

‘You ever robbed a bank?’

‘No.’ He’d gone straight from robbing stores to murder-for-hire, skipping what might be called the steps in between.

‘Doesn’t really matter,’ Ramsey says with a shrug. ‘Jack and I know our business, but we’re short handed. The old Bonnie and Clyde ain’t enough for the place we want to take. Come and be menacing for us, maybe shoot someone if they won’t stay down, and you’ll get an equal cut of the score. We’re not going for the vault, this time, but the cash desks should still give us a couple of hundred thousand.’

Ryan ponders it for a moment. He’s not above an easy paycheck, and this certainly sounds easier than his usual meticulously planned hits.

‘It’s not what most people want Vagabond for,’ he says. ‘Figured there was someone you wanted killed.’

‘Oh, sure, a couple,’ Geoff says with a grin. ‘But there’s time for that. This is a “getting to know you” thing. I like to know who I’m working with.’

Ryan just stares at him for a minute longer, wondering if Ramsey’s a great actor, or if he might actually be crazy. No one this laid back should be capable of co-running a crew which has gone from nothing to owning a good chunk of the city in just a couple of years.

‘Okay,’ he says at last, because fuck it, he might as well try it. ‘When and where?’

Geoff pulls a card from his top pocket and hands it over. It’s thick white card-stock stamped with a green rubber duck and a phone number in bold black font.

‘Tuesday,’ Geoff tells him. ‘Call me on Monday for details, I’m still ironing a couple of things out. You’ve got guns, right?’

Ryan just looks at him, and Geoff laughs. 

‘Right, dumb question. See you later, Vagabond.’

He ambles away down the pier, leaving Ryan holding the card and wondering what kind of criminal wears a tuxedo and carries business cards. Geoff Ramsey is something else.

 _I wonder if his partner is nuts as well,_ he thinks, looking forward to meeting her. 

He stands and watches the ocean until the first seagull falls out of the sky, landing with a feathery smack on the wooden boards. As he leaves, the birds drop like flies around him.

 

~

 

Geoff groggily answers the call on Monday morning, sounding as though Ryan has woken him, but he gets his business head on impressively quickly. He confirms the job is a go, telling Ryan to look for a new-model green car in the parking lot off Power Street at noon on Tuesday.

Sure enough, when Ryan makes a casual drive-by at ten to twelve, the four-door car is there, with two people inside; Ramsey and a woman who he knows must be Jack Pattillo. He pulls on his mask, parks the stolen car he’s been driving for the past week, and raps on the driver’s window of their car.

The red-haired woman in the driver’s seat winds the window down.

‘Jesus Christ, that mask is creepy up close. Get in,’ she says.

Ryan gets in behind her, and Jack turns to look at him. She’s a striking figure, tall and strong, with pretty features that make people underestimate her just as much as Ramsey’s apparent sleepiness. The rumours Ryan has heard clearly state that both of them are equally dangerous.

‘You know your job, Vagabond?’ she asks.

‘Ramsey explained. Keep people’s heads down. Maybe blow them off,’ Ryan says easily.

‘Right. We should be in and out in a few minutes. I thought you were bringing a gun, but it doesn’t matter. We’ve got a spare rifle in the trunk.’

‘No, I brought one.’

Geoff looks askance at him when he pulls out a pistol and starts to check it over.

‘Really? That’s all you brought?’

‘Sure. If you need an assault rifle to make people fear you, you’re not trying hard enough,’ Ryan says.

Geoff shrugs. ‘Well, okay. It sure as shit seems to work for you.’

Jack nods at him, and starts the car. It’s a short drive up to the bank, and Ryan can already feel his heart starting to beat faster.

Before they get close to the bank, Geoff reaches into the back and picks up two black hockey masks, with the Fake AH Crew green rubber duck splashed across the face. They’re going for notoriety for the crew at the same time as hiding their faces, and Ryan can respect that. Vagabond’s skull mask is iconic, but almost no one knows what Ryan’s face looks like.

They pull on the masks, and Jack parks the car outside the bank, getting out immediately to pop the trunk.

‘Ready?’ Geoff asks, as they get out after her.

Ryan just nods, flicking the safety off his pistol as Geoff and Jack take assault rifles out of the trunk.

‘Alright, in we go.’

They jog up the steps and burst into the bank. It’s a major branch, a huge marble space crowded with customers, and Ryan can see immediately why they needed a third gun.  
Jack fires a three-round burst into the ceiling and the place erupts with screams.

‘Alright cocksuckers!’ Geoff shouts.

Ryan spots a security guard going for his gun and shoots him in the head, drawing fresh screams from the cowering people. Many of them can’t stop staring at the blood, and Ryan knows those people will be too afraid to try anything. It’s only the others he needs to keep an eye on.

‘Everyone on the floor! Face down!’

Jack is already striding forward, pointing her rifle at a teller.

‘Open the door,’ she orders, flicking the muzzle towards the door to the enclosed line of desks.

Ryan watches the crowd as they fold down onto the floor, listening to people mumbling and sobbing as they press themselves down. Across the room, Geoff is also watching, covering people who Ryan can’t see around the ornate fountain in the centre of the massive marble lobby.

Jack steps into the desk area, and takes the keycard from the teller so she can’t be locked out again.

‘Pass it down the line. Give me all the bills, leave the coins,’ Jack is saying, throwing a large black duffel to the teller at the end desk.

Ryan keeps watching, feeling as though a timer is counting in his head. Eventually, the cops will show up. It’s inevitable. Hopefully, no one has hit an alarm that will make them show up faster and in greater numbers.

He spots a faint glow between two people on the floor, sees someone turn their head to look at a screen. He steps closer, bends and snags the phone out of the woman’s hand with his clumsy fingers. The screen is dialling 911, but hasn’t connected. He quickly ends the call and throws the phone away. It clatters loudly on the marble, and the woman flinches, looking up at him with wide, horrified eyes.

‘That was really dumb,’ he tells her. He levels his pistol and shoots her in the face, splattering her brain across the pale tiles.

There is a round of terrified screams and stifled sobbing, and he steps back, surveying the scene. No one else is so much as twitching. Good. Geoff meets his eye and nods, satisfied with his actions.

‘No one else tries to be a fucking hero, and no one else dies!’ Geoff declares.

There is silence, save for quiet sobbing and the rustling of money being stacked in the duffel under Jack’s watchful eye.

Less than five minutes after they walked into the bank, Jack steps out from behind the desks and they leave, Geoff and Ryan flanking her out of the door.

There is no sign of police response outside. They get in the car, piling guns and money next to Ryan in the back and covering them in a blanket. Jack drives away, merging calmly into traffic, and as soon as they round the first corner Geoff and Jack take off their masks.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are clear,’ Geoff declares a few minutes later, when they’re almost out of the city, heading into the hills. ‘Thank you for heisting with us today, enjoy your fucking money!’

‘Nice work, Vagabond,’ Jack says, tipping him a nod in the rear-view mirror.

‘Yeah, well spotted,’ Geoff agrees. ‘We’d have had cops right up our assholes.’

Neither one of them says a damn thing about the fact that he just shot two people. Both kills were necessary for their work, and you don’t take a hitman on a bank heist and _not_ expect someone to die. 

They eventually pull up at a deserted, secluded viewpoint high in the Vinewood Hills and pile out of the car. Ryan is itchy with adrenaline, but it’s oddly soothing to look out at the distant city and listen to the rasping cicadas.

Jack pulls the duffel out of the back seat and sets it on the trunk lid, emptying out the stacks of money inside.

‘Not bad,’ Geoff says, assessing the take with a practised eye.

Jack makes a swift, rough count. ‘About two hundred and twenty thousand.’

‘A sweet seventy grand each,’ Geoff says happily. ‘We’ll give Vagabond the extra ten grand. He did us a solid favour back there.’

Ryan nods, accepting it as his due. It’s certainly the fastest eighty thousand dollars he’s ever earned, even with two murders thrown in.

Geoff takes a blue plastic bag out of the pocket of his tux and shakes it out, then counts stacks of bills into it.

‘Thank you,’ Ryan says, when he hands it over. It’s a nice weight hanging from his hand.

‘Do you need a ride back to your car?’ Jack asks, twirling the car keys around her fingers.

‘Wasn’t mine,’ Ryan says, and she grins.

‘I’ll drop you somewhere in the city, then.’

‘Just take me back as far as central Vinewood,’ Ryan says. It’s not where he’s actually living, but he likes the kind of cars he can find there, and he’s in the mood to go for a drive, restless and buzzing.

They stow everything suspicious safely in the trunk of the car and set off again, looping back into the city by a different road.

‘The phone you called me on, is that burned, or can you keep it?’ Geoff asks, as Jack drives.

‘It was a fresh phone. I’ll keep it if you want.’

‘Good. I’ll give you a call next time we need a good pair of hands,’ Geoff says.

Ryan grins bitterly under the mask. He’s one good hand, maybe one and a half, but he gets by. He’s so used to hiding his right hand that neither Geoff nor Jack have noticed anything odd about it.

‘I also have a couple of names for you, if you’re taking hits right now,’ Geoff adds, as Jack pulls up at the curb to let Ryan out.

Ryan nods. ‘Send me names, pictures, whatever you’ve got. I’ll give you a price when I know how hard they’re gonna be to cross off.’

Geoff grins. ‘Fan-fucking-tastic. Don’t be a stranger, Vagabond!’ he calls, as Ryan slams the car door.

He watches the pair drive away, then turns his attention to the pretty black Massacro parked further up the road. It’s almost got his name on it.

 

~

 

Ryan accepts both of the contracts Geoff sends him, minor drug barons who’ve been causing trouble for the Fake AH. It doesn’t take him long to find them, and both men are dead before Geoff calls him for another heist a few weeks later.

‘Got to rob another bank if I’m gonna fund my hitman habit,’ Geoff jokes, and Ryan grins. 

He’s sitting on the couch in his quiet hotel room, idly throwing knives at a board on the opposite wall with his bad hand. He never has got his dexterity back, but it’s better than it was, and he keeps working on it. 

He’s a terrifyingly successful contract killer, and he could certainly afford the surgery to replace the fused joints, but he’s talked to Caleb about it many times over the years, and he’s not sure it’s what he wants. There’s a chance it won’t help, a chance of losing fingers altogether, and right now he’s not sure it’s worth it. He’ll never do a trick shuffle again either way, but he gets by. Maybe he’ll rethink the risks when he’s older, if he lives that long.

He listens to Geoff’s arrangements for later in the week, agrees to his cut, then hangs up. 

He looks around the bland but comfortable room, and decides that it’s time to move again, after the job is done. The quality of his accommodations has only gone up in recent years, but he still never stays anywhere for long. The only place that feels a little like home is Caleb’s house, and even there he gets restless sometimes. He spent too long moving, and he can’t seem to break the habit.

 

~

 

The heist goes off without a hitch; one dead security guard and no ill-advised heroics from anyone else. The same is true of the third time he works with Geoff and Jack, a few weeks later.

After their third heist, Jack and Geoff invite him back to their apartment for a drink, evidently delighted with their continued success.

Ryan accepts, flexing social muscles which have barely been used in years, and finds it surprisingly easy to spend time with them. He takes a beer mostly out of politeness, rolling the mask up to free his mouth and drinking a few sips in the time it takes them to finish two bottles each. He gladly trades his beer for a diet coke when Jack is perceptive enough to offer him something non-alcoholic.

‘Shit, dude, you should have said,’ Geoff tells him, when he admits he doesn’t usually drink. ‘I’ve got no problem with that, it’s just more booze for me.’

With that hurdle out of the way, Ryan actually enjoys sitting there, trading stories which most normal people would find appalling rather than funny. All three of them have seen the worst of Los Santos, and done enough terrible things to find humour in exceptionally dark places.

‘Why Fake AH?’ Ryan asks later in the evening, while they’re watching the over-hyped nine o’clock news coverage of their work. Like his own origins, it’s a subject widely discussed in rumour, but no one seems to know the true answer. Given that he’s killed several people for them outside of contracts, and directly saved Geoff’s ass at least once, he thinks he might have earned the right to hear it.

Geoff laughs and takes another pull of his beer before he answers.

‘It’s all Jack’s fault. I was spitballing crew names, years ago, and she complained that everything I came up with sounded “fake as hell”. The name stuck after that.’

‘And it’s always funny to hear the cops and the press speculate on what super symbolic thing AH stands for,’ Jack adds, grinning. ‘No one’s ever got close.’

‘My god, everyone thinks you’re so scary, and you’re just a pair of trolls,’ Ryan says, rolling his eyes. ‘Is the rubber duck another inside joke?’

‘Squeak squeak, motherfucker,’ Jack says, and curls up laughing.

‘No, but crews try too hard to make their signs look badass,’ Geoff says. ‘I guess you’d know all about that, Mr fucking Black Skull.’

‘I’m not a crew, and it’s not trying too hard if I live up to it,’ Ryan points out, slightly annoyed.

‘Hey, no argument from me,’ Geoff says, raising his hands. ‘We’ve just gone the other way – it really throws people off if you seem ridiculous and then you kick their dicks in.’

Ryan nods. ‘I’ve relied on looking harmless before, I get it.’

‘That seems hard to believe,’ Jack says. ‘But then we still don’t know what you look like without the skull. You could be a goddamn choir boy.’

‘I’m a pretty, pretty princess,’ Ryan says flatly, and the other two dissolve into laughter.

 

~

 

Two weeks later, during their fourth heist together, everything goes to shit. There are three cop cars waiting when they get out of the bank. They don’t bother with more than “LSPD! FREEZE!” before they start shooting.

Jack takes a bullet in the side and goes down hard, still half a block from from the cover of their van.

Geoff screams at the sight of her on the ground, but he was in the lead with most of the money, and he’s already in the van. Ryan hasn’t got in yet, and the pistol he’s using doesn’t match the firepower of Geoff’s rifle. The choice is obvious.

‘I can get her. Cover me!’ Ryan says, and runs back to grab Jack.

To his credit, Geoff doesn’t panic. He leans out of the van and rains bullets into the surrounding cars, windows shattering like hail in all directions, making the cops stay down.

Ryan grabs Jack and helps her up, abandoning the van and making a beeline for an underpass where they’ll have cover. It’s closer, and they don’t have to walk against Geoff’s bullets to get there.

‘We’re clear. Get out of there,’ Jack grits out, as soon as there’s solid concrete between them and the fight.

Geoff stops shooting, and there’s a screech of tires from the road behind them as he takes off.

There’s a parking lot about twenty yards ahead, across a patch of scrub, and Ryan shores Jack up for long enough to get there. He lets her lean on a nondescript SUV and hold her bleeding side while he swiftly breaks in, disabling the alarm with a practised tug on the wires under the dashboard.

Caleb has long since bullied him into carrying a couple of field dressings around with him, so it’s the work of a moment to slap one against Jack’s side and tie the attached bandage tightly around her waist.

‘Hold that down,’ he tells her, opening the door of the car for her to get in.

‘I’m out,’ Geoff says over the comm, breathing heavily, as though driving is taking him as much effort as running. ‘Cops are on my ass, but I can lose them. Where are you? We need to get Jack home.’

‘Not going home. That wound’s a bitch, she needs proper treatment,’ Ryan says, sparking the car into life with a grunt of satisfaction. He clumsily pulls off his mask with his bad hand and drops it in the foot well, not wanting anything to draw attention to them on the road.

Jack looks over at him, wide eyed, and he remembers that she’s never seen his face before. It seems a little late to be worried about his privacy. He trusts these idiots, god help him.

‘They’ll be watching the hospitals!’ Geoff says, voice cracking, distant sirens audible behind him.

‘Yeah, I know. I’m not going to a hospital. Now shut up and deal with your own problems!’

The route to Caleb’s house is burned into his brain, but it still takes focus to avoid the other cars on the road. People in Los Santos drive like the animals they are. 

He knows which shifts Caleb is working, and if they’re lucky, she will have got home by the time they get there.

‘Where the fuck are we?’ Jack asks, when they pull up on the quiet suburban street. To Ryan’s relief, Caleb’s car is in the driveway.

‘Friend’s house,’ Ryan says shortly.

He goes round to her door, helping her out like a true southern gentleman, and they limp up to the door. Ryan lets himself in, and shuts out the night behind them with a deep sense of relief. They’ll be safe here.

Caleb turns from where she’s sitting on the sofa – a squashy blue monster that Ryan had helped her move in when she finally updated the furniture – and almost drops her bowl of cereal when she sees Ryan isn’t alone. In three years, she’s never seen him with anyone else.

‘You said you’d never bring trouble here,’ Caleb says, shoving her bowl onto the coffee table and following them into the kitchen.

‘She’s less trouble than I am,’ Ryan promises, helping Jack sit down.

Caleb knocks his hand away when he goes to loosen the field dressing, pointing him towards their formidable first aid cabinet instead.

Ryan does as directed, laying out antiseptic and a suture kit while Caleb peels away the blood-soaked cotton. She immediately recoils from the smell of the wound, and shakes her head.

‘It’s hit her large intestine. I’m going to have to open her up and suture the gut, else it’s just going to spew bacteria into her abdomen and poison her.’

Ryan just nods and gets out a sterile packaged scalpel and a vial of local anaesthetic.

‘Local doesn’t work well on guts, there are too many tiny nerves,’ Caleb says. ‘It’d be better to put her out.’

‘Fuck that,’ Jack protests. ‘I’m not letting some stranger knock me out and cut me open.’

‘What the fuck?!’ Geoff puts in, and Ryan winces at the sudden shout in his ear. He’d almost forgotten Geoff was still listening.

‘I am actually a doctor, if that helps,’ Caleb says mildly. 

It seems to help a little – Jack looks slightly less likely to try and make a run for it.

‘Geoff, shut up,’ she says, when Geoff continues to curse in their ears.

‘Jack, I trust her absolutely,’ Ryan says, ignoring the disgruntled grumbling in his ear. ‘I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought you’d be okay with just first aid. You need her help.’

Jack looks between them for a long moment, taking in their calm faces.

‘Jesus, okay. I don’t have a lot of choice here, but I trust you,’ she says.

Caleb grins. ‘Aww, Vagabond, you made a friend.’

‘Oh my god, is this really the time?’ Ryan says, wishing he had his mask to hide his blush. 

Jack actually laughs, though the sound quickly cuts off in a hiss.

‘Sorry, I’m bad at appropriate timing,’ Caleb says with a shrug. ‘Wipe the table with the Detsan, and make sure you clean your hands with it too. I need to scrub my hands. Jack, you just sit there and keep pressure on the wound.’

Ryan shifts the fruit bowl onto the counter and measures out the disinfectant, ducking around Caleb at the sink to dilute the mix. He all but soaks the polished wood with it, caring more about making sure it’s clean than ruining the grain. He can buy Caleb a new table. He can’t buy Geoff a new Jack.

He can hear Geoff in his ear, talking quickly and quietly to Jack, sounding like he’s barely holding it together.

‘I don’t know where we are,’ Jack tells him. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ll see you when I come home.’

Ryan glances over at Caleb. ‘Can I give him the address?’ It might help Geoff stop freaking out if he can at least come and find them.

‘If you trust these people, so do I.’

Ryan nods sharply. ‘Geoff, we’re at 780 Constance Boulevard. Don’t bring any trouble with you, this is a quiet neighbourhood. Come charging in like an idiot and someone will call the cops.’

‘Alright, Ryan, help her up on the table,’ Caleb says, pulling on a pair of sterile gloves. 

‘Here’s how this is going to work, Jack: I’m going to put you to sleep, and make as small an incision as I can around the entry wound to get access to the damaged bowel. Since you’re still breathing, odds are that the bullet lodged in the large intestine rather than ricocheting around and tearing up your guts. If we’re lucky, it’ll just be a little tear and I can pull the bullet, wash it out and stitch you up. We haven’t got any blood on hand, so I’m going to have to work fast.’

‘I’m not hurt, she can have some of my blood,’ Ryan says. ‘I’m type O negative.’

‘I won’t do that unless I have to,’ Caleb says, shaking her head. ‘Universal donor is a misnomer. It’s a smaller risk, but there could still be antibodies that’ll cause a reaction.’

Ryan settles Jack on the table, giving her a small smile as Caleb prepares a syringe of some milky liquid.

‘This is propofol,’ Caleb tells her, prodding at her inner elbow in search of a good vein. ‘It’ll hit you fast, but you’ll recover pretty quickly afterwards, and I can give you some painkillers when it wears off.’

‘Geoff, I can hear your tires screeching. If you crash trying to get here, I’ll fucking murder you,’ Jack says, wincing at the sharp scratch of the needle. ‘There’s nothing you can do.’

‘We’ve got her, Geoff, I promise,’ Ryan says. ‘Don’t come bursting in here, you don’t want Caleb getting jumpy with the scalpel.’

‘You should start feeling really happy,’ Caleb says, slowly depressing the plunger. ‘Then you’ll fall asleep.’

Sure enough, within a minute Jack is smiling, and then she goes out like a light.

Caleb wastes no time. As soon as she’s sure Jack is gone, she cuts into her side. Ryan watches in fascination as Caleb’s slender fingers disappear into Jack’s guts. There’s blood everywhere, and he doesn’t know how she can even tell what she’s doing.

‘Got it,’ she says, barely thirty seconds later. ‘Hand me some tweezers.’

Ryan tears open a packet and holds it out, not touching the metal inside. Caleb takes the tool, and moments later she draws out the bloody slug of lead.  
It’s crushed and misshapen, but not fragmented.

‘Looks like a ricochet,’ Ryan says, eyeing the crushed nose of the bullet when she sets it aside.

‘That works in our favour, it’s not terribly deep,’ Caleb says, flushing out the wound so she can see the damage. Blood and saline and stinking brown bile splatter across the kitchen floor, and Ryan wrinkles his nose as his pants get splashed.

‘Internal sutures,’ she says, and Ryan hands over a needle with collagen thread that will break down over time. Caleb swiftly closes Jack’s guts, then washes out the area with antiseptic to counter the intestinal bacteria.

‘Alright, external sutures and we’re done,’ Caleb says, sounding pleased. 

She carefully places a dozen tiny stitches, and she’s just wiping the sealed skin with antiseptic when there’s a knock at the door.

Ryan goes to answer it, glad to see that Geoff has heeded his warning about rushing in. Geoff has switched cars at some point after losing the cops, dumping the van the police are looking for in favour of a boring four-door sedan.

Geoff looks wrecked, pale and wide-eyed, but he’s parked his car neatly at the side of the road and hasn’t brought any unwanted attention with him. Ryan is almost impressed.

He does a double take at the sight of Ryan, drinking in his bare face for a solid thirty seconds before he’s back to worrying about Jack.

‘She’s still out,’ Ryan tells him, closing the door and leading Geoff into the kitchen.

Geoff goes paler still at the sight of Jack’s motionless form and blood all over the floor, but Caleb is calmly putting a dressing on Jack’s side. The drama is over.

‘Antibiotics and painkillers for a couple of weeks, plenty of rest, and she’ll be fine in a month,’ the doctor says, favouring Geoff with a small smile. ‘Go and sit down for a minute, let us clean the floor before we all walk blood around the house.’

By the time Jack wakes up, the kitchen looks like a kitchen again, rather than an improvised trauma ward. Ryan and Geoff have carefully moved her to the sofa, and Geoff is sitting on the floor beside her, holding her hand. There's a drip bag hanging from the ceiling above them, hooked to a needle in Jack's arm and slowly replenishing her fluid levels. In the absence of blood bags, it’s the best second option.

Caleb and Ryan are sprawled in the matching blue armchairs, and the doctor is half asleep. If not for her need to watch her patient, she’d have been in bed hours ago.

Ryan is almost drifting himself, exhausted in the wake of the adrenaline rush. It was a risk, showing his face, and an even bigger risk bringing Geoff and Jack to his one safe place in the world, exposing the one person he cares about. And yet, Jack would be dead or dying if he hadn’t made the right choice, and he doesn’t regret it. He hopes he never will.

‘Fucking ow,’ Jack says muzzily, and Geoff lights up at the sound of her voice.

‘Hey, hey, you’re alright,’ he says, squeezing her hand gently. ‘Just stay still. Doc said you’ll be dizzy for a while.’

‘It’s Caleb, not doc. What’s _with_ you people?’ Caleb asks, scowling sleepily, and Ryan can’t help but start laughing.

‘Hurts,’ Jack says, and Caleb is at her side with a shot of painkillers in moments, shaking off her tiredness.

‘You lost a lot of blood, so don’t worry if you feel dizzy, it’s normal,’ she says. ‘You might struggle to sit up for a while, and I wouldn’t recommend walking without someone holding you.’

Jack sighs and visibly relaxes as the drugs take effect, and some of the tension drains out of Geoff.

‘What do I owe you?’ he asks Caleb, and Ryan can tell he almost said “doc” at the end before he stopped himself.

‘That’s up to you,’ Caleb says. ‘Jack still needs a lot of care. I can give you pills if you need to leave immediately, but injected painkillers and antibiotics would be more effective. I can give those to Vagabond, if you’re sticking together. He’s pretty handy with a needle.’

‘Why does that not shock me?’ Geoff says, at the same time as Jack slurs ‘Creepy motherfucker.’

‘Mostly they’re for me,’ Ryan says mildly, holding up his right hand and letting them take a good look at how it moves, or doesn’t. He’s in the habit of keeping it in his pocket if he doesn’t absolutely need to use it, and in the heat of their heists neither of them have had time to really notice how misshapen it is.

‘Huh,’ Geoff says, taken aback. ‘You’re full of surprises today, Vagabond.’

‘It’s Ryan.’

He’d wondered before if it was worth telling them his name. He’s used to going by Vagabond, but since he’s given them almost all his secrets, and felt nothing but relief at revealing each one, it only seems right to give up the last of them.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Jack says, and Ryan laughs.

‘Fuck off, Jack, it’s not like a different name makes me a different person,’ he says, but they all know it’s not quite true.

He lets Geoff keep staring at his hand until the scrutiny starts making him uncomfortable, then tucks it back in his pocket.

‘You’re not naturally left handed, are you?’ Geoff says.

‘Nah.’

Geoff pouts. ‘Damn it! Do you know how rare lefties are? I thought we were meant to be, Ryan!’

‘The dream is over, Geoff,’ Jack says, grinning loopily. The painkillers are obviously making everything funnier, making her softer at the edges than usual. Her free hand is in Geoff’s hair, petting it idly, and Geoff seems happy to lean back and let her. He doesn’t need to give a damn about their image in this safe space.

‘That didn’t happen by accident,’ Geoff says eventually, looking thoughtful.

‘No.’

‘Did Burnie Burns do it?’ Geoff asks, putting pieces together with the razor sharp intellect that most people don’t realise he possesses.

‘One of his goons,’ Ryan confirms. ‘I used to be a card sharp, and Rooster Teeth didn’t take kindly to me working their patch and not paying protection.’

Geoff grimaces at the implied violence, and Jack gasps in sympathy.

‘I spent a year recovering with Caleb’s help, then I burned down their world.’

‘Good riddance to those assholes,’ Geoff says, nodding sharply. He looks over at Caleb, assessing the tired-eyed doctor.

‘Do you want a job?’ he asks.

‘Sorry?’ Caleb says, taken off guard.

‘Well, you’re not just Ryan’s private doctor, are you? You’re working at a hospital, probably stressed out of your mind.’

‘Pillbox Hill,’ Caleb confirms, and Geoff pulls a face.

‘Jesus, what a dump. Want to come work for me instead? I guarantee that you’ll work shorter hours, get paid more, and see fewer snotty kids.’ 

‘Probably about the same number of gunshot wounds, though,’ Caleb says shrewdly.

‘Probably,’ Jack says, and giggles. ‘But it looks like you can handle those.’

Caleb turns to Ryan, one eyebrow raised in question.

‘Clearly you trust them, or you’re starting to. Who are they?’ she asks.

‘Geoff Ramsey and Jack Pattillo. They lead the Fake AH Crew, or they _are_ the Fake AH Crew, depending on how you look at it.’

Caleb nods thoughtfully. ‘I’ve heard of the Fake.’

‘Hey, we’re famous,’ Jack says.

‘We made it, ma!’ Geoff says, letting his voice crack obnoxiously.

Caleb smiles and shakes her head.

‘They’re as crazy as you,’ she says, looking fondly at Ryan. ‘And for some reason I like you. Sure, I’ll come and play doctor for your criminal friends. Half of them end up at Pillbox, so I might as well cut out the journey, right?’

Geoff grins. ‘That’s the kind of efficient thinking I like. Welcome to the crew, doc!’

Caleb holds up a finger. ‘And now I’m quitting already,’ she threatens. ‘It’s Caleb, or Dr Denecour.’

‘You got it, Dr Caleb,’ Geoff says, grinning like the asshole he is.

‘Close enough,’ Caleb says, and she can’t quite hide her smile.  



End file.
